For a circle has no sides.
If we sit in just the center,
We won't see what outside hides.
So we'll be walking in a circle,
For the rest of our lives.
On the inside is a staircase.
On the outside is a key.
Both with patterns drawn so intricate,
No human eye could see.
So all that we can do,
Is be the best that we can be.
Those, they say, who leave the circle,
Have had the courage to brawl,
Claiming circles are tornadoes.
Through the center people fall!
So those who walk perimeters,
Will walk into a wall.
We who have grand hopes and dreams,
Are made to solve this riddle:
The strong winds that control tornadoes,
Are born from stones so brittle,
That wind cannot escape these shadows.
Just what's in the middle.
By S.H. Onyx
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